


Departure

by distortedrain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boys In Love, Day At The Beach, Dean has never been to the beach, Fluff, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Episode: s12e09 First Blood, Romance, Sharing a Bed, but he has now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 05:21:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9804293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distortedrain/pseuds/distortedrain
Summary: After escaping Site 94, the Winchesters embark on a well-deserved trip to the beach.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to [Tumblr](http://distortedrain.tumblr.com/post/156657966004/departure-destiel) for Dean Creations Challenge prompt, "Dean's Pop Culture References: Die Hard."
> 
> Un-beta'd.

Dean had had a hard time admitting it to himself in the past but he certainly couldn’t deny it any longer: he needed a break. He and Sam, Cas, too, if that flying-ass monkey didn’t disappear on them again to go off on some stupid, self-sacrificing mission. And Mary. He couldn’t forget his mother. The word “mom” still tasted strange in his mouth but he couldn’t continue holding her at arm’s length because he was still afraid she didn’t want him. But she did—of course she did. He could see it now, especially after she had taken it upon herself to fulfil Sam and Dean’s deal with Billie. After she had nearly ended her life after muttering her potential last words: “I love you.” How could he have ever doubted her? But even as Dean asked himself that, he still had to force down the notion that despite what she had nearly just done for he and Sam, maybe she still needed to leave. After all, she hadn’t come for them because she had felt ready; it was Cas who had dragged her back to them. Dean eventually decided to put these thoughts away in favour of a well-deserved rest. Fleeing through the woods and fighting specialised military personnel really could take a lot out of a guy.

Mary’s car was small compared to the Impala. It didn’t leave much legroom for Sam and Dean in the backseat especially since they were both of above average height. They were already merging onto the interstate from State Route 34 by the time Sam’s shaggy head fell against the window. Dean’s own eyes were beginning to droop. Just as he slipped out of consciousness, he caught Mary’s eyes glance at him through the rearview mirror. 

The first time Dean woke up, he felt a tremendous weight settled on his shoulder and soft hair tickling his neck. His little brother had somehow slipped onto Dean in his sleep. Despite his slight discomfort, Dean refrained from pushing Sam to the wall of the car. 

It was still dark out, and a passing sign indicated that they were back on State Route 34. Dean likely hadn’t slept for more than four hours. Castiel and Mary were talking in the front. Dean thanked his many years of hunting for his sharp, honed hearing that made it unnecessary to strain his ears.

“—needs you, even if he won’t admit it.” That was Castiel’s voice. 

“I know he does.” That was Mary’s. Dean couldn’t help but wonder if they were talking about him. It sure as hell sounded like him. “I just don’t know if I’m ready to move back in with you and the boys.”

“I’m not staying, Mary. I have to find Kelly, I have to rid the world of the abomination that she’s carrying. It’s my fault she even got away.”

 _Devil spawn_ , Dean thought. And just as he’d suspected, here Cas was, ready to undertake another operation all by himself. He felt a great pang in his chest. Why was everyone so eager to turn tail and run away from him? It wasn’t even like he could blame them: Mary was still adjusting to this new, modern world, and Cas was trying to prevent a major catastrophe. But something, _something_ made it feel like these reasons were only disguises for rejection. Why did Dean keep facing rejection after rejection after rejection? He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and dragged it against his teeth, his lip coming free with a faint pop and pushing forward into a subtle pout. 

“Stay for a week,” Cas continued. “Please. They’ve been alone for two months. They need this.”

It was silent for a few minutes. Dean could feel the bumps of the car every time they hit a pothole or a particularly large pebble, each one lightly knocking his forehead against the glass. He was anxious to hear his mother’s reply. 

Finally, Mary spoke again. “I’ll make you a deal, Castiel. I’ll stay if you stay. Believe or not, they need you too. Especially Dean.”

Dean’s breath nearly hitched when Mary said that, but his acquired skill of keeping quiet so as to not alert monsters (and to keep Sam from realising he was still awake) saved him from being caught eavesdropping. 

Cas shifted in his seat, and Dean had the good sense to shut his eyes. Only moments later, he felt a soft but dry fingers brush the back of his hand then his own fingers. The fingers pause, and after a beat, Dean could feel their gentle warmth enveloping his own hand, as though the owner of the fingers was debating whether or not to follow through on the action. Dean was careful to keep his hand limp.

“Deal,” Cas said. 

His hand pulled away. 

•    •    •

The second time Dean woke up, they were in Kansas, heading down State Route 36. The sun had yet to rise completely, but Dean could see the faintest glow of daylight pushing up from the horizon. 

Sometime during the night, Mary and Castiel had traded places. Cas was now at the wheel, and Mary was curled up in the passenger seat, her jacket thrown over her like a makeshift blanket. Sam was still leaving heavily on Dean, but the latter really didn’t have the heart to push his little brother off. Sam’s hair was still irritating Dean’s neck (even though it was incredibly soft) and Dean once again had half a mind to just chop it off as the younger man slept.

Dean knew that the several weeks of solitary confinement had affected his brother much more than it had affected himself. Sam had always been the more open one of the two siblings, had always been the one to crave touch and company. Dean was closed off, distant. Not that he would reject touch and company if it was offered, in fact he often sought out sexual encounters with drunken women at filthy pubs—at least, he used to. Whatever the case was, Dean knew that isolation would have a far greater impact on his brother than it did on him. Who was he to steal away the first bit of peace the his brother had been given?

Dean did, however, have to sit up. He could feel a nasty kink in his neck, and his elbow had been bent for so long that it felt frozen in place. He rose as slowly as he could, suppressing a groan as every ache he had amplified. He moved slowly, simultaneously rising and moving closer to the door so that he didn’t push Sam upright and wake him up. 

Dean’s eyes darted up to the rearview, where he found Cas already watching him. 

“Good morning, Dean,” said Cas. 

“What time is it?” Dean said in lieu of returning the wish. His voice was rougher in the mornings, though not nearly as rough as Cas’. 

“Early,” Cas replied. Nobody knew vague like Cas did. “Only a few hours until we reach the Bunker.”

“Right. Well—”

“You should get more rest, Dean,” Cas interrupted. “You need it.”

“I’m good,” Dean said. It sounded casual, but Dean knew that Cas knew that that was a protest. 

“Alright,” Cas conceded. 

Dean found himself staring at Cas’ hands. 

•    •    •

By the time they reached the Bunker, it was well past daybreak. Mary had already woken and gone inside while Cas and the brothers had driven down to park in the Bunker’s garage. Sam was still asleep and for once Dean felt bad that he had to get him up.

He gripped Sam by the shoulders and shook gently, gruffly saying, “Wake up, Sammy.” 

It took a few tries to get him up. He was disoriented at first, looking almost disbelieving of their surroundings, as though he thought that he had imagined the events of the past day and that he was still imprisoned back at Site 94. 

“Sam,” Dean said. “We’re at the Bunker and I am not carrying you inside. C’mon, shower and a salad. You deserve it.”

He clapped his little brother once on the shoulder before exiting the car, leaving the other man to his own devices. Cas was leaning against the small car, waiting for the rest of the car’s occupants to follow him out. 

“He’ll be out in a minute,” Dean informed Cas, briefly guiding the angel towards the garage’s exit with a hand on his back before letting said hand fall to his side. 

They were nearly at the Bunker’s entrance when Cas spoke, the single word he uttered seeming to echo within the garage. “Dean.” 

Dean was not keen on replying. He had a bad feeling that whatever was about to come out of the angel’s mouth would be some sappy, sentimental bullshit that would force Dean into a conversation he wasn’t quite ready to have. So instead of replying, Dean pushed past Cas towards the door—or at least he tried to. Dean often seemed to forget that Cas wasn’t just the number one hype-man for honeybees. 

Cas caught Dean’s arm and hauled him backwards, his chin high as he rolled his eyes as if he felt above all this, like he was annoyed that he, an Angel of the Lord, capital A, capital L, couldn’t get this puny human to hold a conversation with him. “Dean,” he repeated, his gravelly voice suddenly sounding much more serious than it had before.

Dean stayed silent and avoided Cas’ intense gaze, opting instead for staring at the light that hung low from the ceiling.  

“After you eat,” began Cas, “you will tell me what happened.”

“Actually,” Dean said, meeting Cas’ baby blues, “after I eat, I’m gonna take another nap.”

“You can’t avoid talking about this, Dean. I don’t know what happened in Site 94 but you will tell me. I’m trying to help.” 

“You can _help_ by letting it go. Besides, I’ve already told you what happened.” 

And this time, when Dean shoved past Cas, Cas let him. 

•    •    •

Awhile longer passed before Dean voiced his thoughts. It was comfortably tense—two words that wouldn’t normally go together, but somehow did. The tension was there. Every single person in the Bunker knew they had to talk about what was going to happen next. They couldn’t just go on with their miscommunications and hurt feelings and more miscommunications. And yet, everyone was happy to carry about their day without a word about whatever was looming over their heads. 

Dean had had enough. It was after dinner on the second night after their arrival at the Bunker that he finally spoke up. 

He had done the cooking that night. His specialty burgers had never failed to make Sam’s mouth water, and he had just found that Mary also held said burgers in high regard. Even Cas, who couldn’t taste anything, was happy to sit and eat Dean’s burgers if only to humour him. 

When everyone was good and filled to the brim, reclining easy and letting themselves be entertained by Cas’ stories of old Roman emperors and older Egyptian pharaohs, Dean began to think. This is what he loved, even if he hated to admit he kind of liked the apple pie life (despite the fact that there had been no apple pie that night). Sitting with his family with a full stomach, hearing about the hundred-and-one ways that Julius Caesar and Akhenaten had fucked up. 

It quietened as Cas finished his story. 

Dean took a deep breath. “Hey, guys.” Suddenly all the attention was on him. He considered bailing on what he was about to say next, but no. He knew he needed this. The rest of them probably did too. And so he continued with confidence: “What do you say we take a trip to the beach or something? Make a weekend out of it. I know Sammy and I need some down time after being cooped up for so long. Besides...I’ve never been to a beach.”

Cas was the first to speak. He spoke hesitantly and gently as though afraid of hurting Dean’s feelings by showing opposition. “As much as we all need to get away from this, we have a _responsibility_ to fulfill.”

“Yeah, well I say ‘screw that!’ We deserve this! Why do we have to keep fixing everything?”

“Because we’re always the ones to mess things up in the first place.” That was Sam. Dean thought that Sam at least would side with him. The tension was back, though this time it was most definitely not comfortable. Sam was giving Dean his unintentional puppy-eyes, the ones that said “Please, dear brother, please try and see reason.”

It surprised Dean when Mary spoke up. He hadn’t thought he looked _that miserable_. “I think it’s a good idea,” Mary said, and Dean’s head shot up. “Things have been difficult for me—for all of us. We do need a break from all this crap. And I wanna spend some time with my boys. And that means all three of you.”

Dean was silent for a moment before breaking out into a grin. “Yeah! We’ll just. . .come out to the coast, we’ll get together, have a few laughs. . .it’ll be great.” 

Sam gave him a funny look and a smile. 

•    •    •

Two days later, they were in Santa Barbara. It had been more than a twenty-four hour’s drive to get there from Lebanon (and Dean had of course shut down any suggestion that they take Mary’s car, not that anyone had objected to the increased sense of familiarity and safety and legroom of the Impala), and they’d needed time to deliberate and hash out where they were going—they couldn’t just hit any old coast. It was California beaches or nothing. Perhaps they’d try Florida next time. 

A bit of research had given Dean an important piece of information: the authorities as Haskell’s Beach would not give them any hassle if they had a campfire going. With that knowledge in hand, they had decided to spend the day in the city, load the Impala with supplies (and by supplies they meant food, mostly), and return by sunset, which Dean figured was the optimal time for a campfire on the beach. 

As per their plan, they had parked the Impala an estimated one-and-a-half hours before the sun was to set. A good half hour had been spent prepping for the night to come. All that meant was that they had to dig a ring out of the sand to create a makeshift bench, as well as unload the logs they had picked up earlier in the day from the trunk (they had taken up a third of the backseat and as a result, Mary and Castiel had been uncomfortably squished together). 

The sun had begun to set by the time they sat down on the sand-benches with beers in hand and had the fire going. Well, Dean, Sam, and Mary had sat down. Cas was still in the car—he had claimed that he had something he wanted to bring that he didn’t want the others to see just yet. Dean had a sneaking suspicious that it was something silly but for Cas’ sake, he kept his mouth shut. Besides, Cas’ obsession with little human quirks was kind of cute, even if Dean couldn’t bring himself to concede it. Even after all these years on Earth, Cas was still fascinated and oblivious as ever (though admittedly a little less _emotionally_ oblivious). 

Whatever was in Cas’ pocket, Dean could tell that it was contained within a square box. Cas sat down next to Dean. 

“Welcome to the party, pal,” Dean said loudly, then leaned over to Cas and whispered, “What the hell’s in your pocket?”

The angel seemed to immediately grow uncomfortable, as though ashamed or embarrassed of whatever he’d brought along. “U-uh, it’s nothing, Dean.” 

Dean let it go. 

After the sun had gone down—which was magnificent, Dean had to admit, the way blue turned to purple turned to red turned to orange and everything reflected off of the water and silhouetted the clouds so that they were outlined in pink and orange—it grew cold quite quickly. Luckily for them, the fire was well-stoked. The flames themselves reached quite high, probably four feet or more. Embers floated around the fire, drifting ever upwards until they were nothing more than distant orange dots. 

Dean was on his second beer, though he was as sober as he would have been without the beer. Cas, on the other hand, after having consumed only just a bit more alcohol that Dean himself had, was clearly having a stronger reaction. “Dean, my fingertips are tingling.”

Dean gave him a sideways glance. “That’s the beer, Cas.”

“Yes, I thought so, too.” He had his hand raised to his face and was inspecting it from all angles, his head tilted in that curious-angel fashion that Dean found too adorable for words. Dean’s face began to flush at the thought, and he found himself looking up at Mary and Sam across the fire as though they could hear his thoughts like Cas could. But they were absorbed in their own conversation, paying no mind to Dean and Cas’. 

“Dean, I feel this is an appropriate time to confess something to you,” Cas said. The way he said it was so hesitant, nervous, afraid, so undeniably human, and so undeniable un-Cas that Dean spent extra long coming up with an answer. Cas was looking at him, wide-eyed and expectant, so much hope in his eyes that the guilt would probably overcome Dean if he let the guy down. 

“Shoot,” Dean said finally. 

Cas moved closer, and Dean had a feeling it was to give their conversation more privacy. “Well,” Cas began, and it sounded like Cas was losing his resolve with every passing second. Dean just waited patiently, giving the angel every opportunity to back out. Cas leaned forwards a bit more. It was then that Dean saw the box peaking out from Cas’ pocket. He snatched it with his free hand. 

“What’s this?” Dean asked.

Cas seemed to be relieved at the distraction that Dean had presented him with. “Well—I found them at a store. I thought perhaps—”

“We could try them out?” Dean grinned. “Hey, Sammy! Mom! Cas brought sparklers!”

•    •    •

They put out the fire and headed back to the Impala, looking to get a few motel rooms for the night. They realized in hindsight that they probably should have done that earlier in the day but alas, it was too late now. 

They found a motel quite easily. Dean was about to do something that could be interpreted as both very brave and very stupid. He approached the man behind the counter. He looked very old and very tired, both physically and mentally, like he’d been standing behind that exact same counter for his entire life. 

To Dean, this trip was about getting away from his everyday life, from the pressure of saving the world from another threat. When relieved from said pressure, Dean had suddenly found the resolve to do something he’d been holding back from doing for many, many years. Perhaps it had been the way Cas had shifted closer to him, or the way his eyes shined when he held the sparkler to his face, or the way one half of his face was illuminated by the fire and the other was bathed in flickering shadows. Something made Dean just wanna say “Fuck it.”  


“Three rooms, please,” Dean said. “One night.”

“One bed?” the man said. His voice was almost as tired sounding as he looked. 

“Yes,” Dean replied confidently, sliding his (fake) credit card from his wallet. He then leaned closer to Cas and lightly touched the small of his back. “You can room with me.” 

Cas was the only one to do a double-take. And the old man behind the counter who had probably thought that Mary was one of their girlfriends since she looked about their age anyways. For some reason, both Mary and Sam seemed completely unfazed by the most recent developments. Cas swallowed heavily, but didn’t say a word to the contrary. 

After saying their goodbyes and goodnights and making preparations for bed, Dean was already curled up between the sheets. His eyes were heavily lidded—a sudden exhaustion had come over him at the realisation of how long a day it had actually been. Cas was the one stalling now, shuffling around at the foot of the bed as though unsure about what to do with himself.

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean grumbled, his voice already laced with fatigue. He raised the sheets with one arm, an open invitation for Cas to crawl in next to him. 

The angel did so, albeit awkwardly. It was like he had suddenly remembered all those times that Dean had pressed him about personal space, because he seemed to be trying his best to not even brush fingers with Dean. The latter was growing frustrated. _Fuck it_ , he thought, and tossed an arm around Cas’ waist. 

“Hey, maybe tomorrow we can go in the water,” Dean said, smiling as he pressed his nose to Cas’ neck. The angel showed no sign of resistance, which for Dean, was a cue to hug him closer. 

“Yes, I would like to try that,” Cas replied. 

By morning, their legs were tangled. 

•    •    •

On the drive back, Sam had been kicked into the backseat with Mary. Though Dean insisted that it was only for a change of scenery (“I’m just sick of your face, Sammy,”) he knew he wasn’t really fooling anyone. And he wasn’t really trying, if he was being honest. You don’t grab someone’s hand and hold it for nearly the entire drive home for the sake of a change of scenery. 

A whole twenty-four hours later, they were back at the Bunker, tired, hungry, sand wedged in their ass-cracks, but all the same, very happy. They ate the meals they had picked up on the way and promptly went to bed. Dean wasted no time in tugging Cas towards his room rather than letting Cas go off towards his own. Once again, the angel didn’t let out a squeak of protest. 

“What was it you wanted to tell me? At the beach?” Dean asked. He was facing Cas, his head propped up on his hand. 

“It was not of import,” Cas replied gravely. He turned his back towards Dean, who saw no other fit proceeding than to hug Cas from the back as he had back in the motel. 

“I want you to know something because I know I don’t say it enough,” Dean said. “I need you.”

“That’s it,” Cas replied. “That’s what I wanted to tell you.” 

But Dean could hear by the strain in his voice that he was lying, and he said as much.

“Yes, I am,” Cas admitted. “But I do need you. And I love you.”

“Is that what you wanted to tell me?” Dean asked softly.

“Yes.” Cas said it in such a low whisper that Dean nearly didn’t hear it. 

“Oh. Well, ditto,” Dean said. It didn’t take him much longer to fall asleep after that. Cas, who didn’t sleep at all, was perfectly content to enjoy the feeling of Dean all around him.

When Dean woke up, Cas was staring at him. Dean was about to do another brave-stupid thing. He inched very close to Cas, so close that the tips of their noses were touching. He gazed at Cas’ eyes, which were very blue and very wide, and quickly, so quickly that Cas didn’t even have time to register it, pecked his lips. 

“Want a breath mint?” Dean asked. He smiled. 

By the next morning after that, Mary was gone. She had left a note, or rather, she had texted Dean. confirming her eventual return in a day or two’s time, and it made Dean want to cry with relief that she wasn’t leaving indefinitely again. 

_I’m meeting that British Men of Letters man. I’ll be back soon._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'd really appreciate comments and kudos as well as constructive criticism.


End file.
